🐾 30 Seconds of Panic, a Lifetime of Loyalty This morning started out like any other. The sun was just peeking over the rooftops, the birds were chirping, and my sleepy body shuffled through the motions of a morning routine I could do in my sleep. I opened the back door and let Lola, my golden retriever and constant companion, out to do her morning business. She’s always good about that. Routine. Predictable. Safe. So, I turned my back and headed to the kitchen, thinking about nothing more serious than how strong I wanted my coffee.
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But the peace didn’t last. Not even close.
Just a few minutes later, I returned outside, steaming mug in hand… and Lola was gone.
At first, my brain tried to reason with me: “Maybe she’s around the corner. Maybe she’s sniffing under the bushes. Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.” But then I saw it. The back gate was open—wide open. That’s when the coffee nearly slipped from my hands and my heart stopped.
I panicked. A cold, breath-snatching kind of panic that tightened in my chest and made the edges of my vision blur. I ran—barefoot, in my pajamas, looking like a madwoman—through the house and out the front door. I didn’t care what the neighbors thought. I didn’t care about anything except one thing: finding Lola.
And then I saw her. Down the block. Her golden fur catching the morning light. She had that look in her eyes that dogs get when the world has suddenly gotten very big and very exciting. My heart thudded in my ears, and I called her name.
Once.
Just once.
And like a bolt of honey-colored lightning, she turned and came running back to me. No hesitation. No pause. Just pure, joyful trust.
I dropped to my knees right there on the lawn and wrapped my arms around her. Relief hit me like a wave—and I swear, in that one hug, I felt both the terror of losing her and the unbreakable bond between us collide.
It could’ve gone so differently. She could’ve run the other way. She could’ve crossed a street. She could’ve gotten scared or hit or lost. But she didn’t. Because recall training works. Because love works. Because Lola knows where she belongs.
And then came the aftermath.
Shaking, still trying to come down from the adrenaline, I texted my boyfriend to tell him what had happened. I thought he’d share in my relief. I thought he’d say something like, “I’m so glad she’s okay.” Or “You handled that well.” Or even just “That must’ve been terrifying.”
Instead, I got this:
“Did you beat her a**?”
My heart dropped a second time, but for a different reason.
Beat her? For what? For walking through a gate I forgot to secure? For exploring like dogs naturally do? For doing exactly what I’ve trained her to do—return immediately when called, even with distractions around?
I was stunned. Not just by the cruelty of the suggestion, but by the complete lack of understanding. The failure to grasp what that moment meant. The ignorance of how deep a connection you need to train recall. The disrespect of thinking violence has a place in that relationship.
And in that moment, something clicked.
If you don’t understand that my dog is family,
If you think fear teaches better than trust,
If you hear about a moment of grace and your first instinct is punishment—
Then you don’t belong in my story.
So I replied simply:
“Guess who’s single now.”
Because this morning, in thirty seconds, I aged ten years… but I also gained absolute clarity.
🐶 What Lola Taught Me Today
Lola isn’t just a pet. She’s my heartbeat on four legs. She’s the one who follows me room to room. She senses my stress before I even say a word. She greets me with the same joy whether I’m gone five minutes or five hours.
And today? She proved that all the hours of training, all the praise, all the snacks and repetitions—they weren’t for nothing. She proved that she hears me. She trusts me. And even with the whole world wide open, she chose me.
That’s not something you punish. That’s something you cherish.
🦋 What I’m Taking Away
This morning reminded me of what truly matters:
Vigilance, yes. Always double-check the gate.
But more than that: grace.
Grace for ourselves when we mess up.
Grace for our animals who are doing their best to navigate the world we control.
And grace in knowing when it’s time to let go of people who don’t understand the kind of love that builds real trust.
Because at the end of the day, I’d rather be barefoot in the street, sobbing with relief while hugging my dog, than standing next to someone who can’t comprehend the depth of that bond.
So here’s to recall training, to loyal pups, and to walking away from people who think discipline means cruelty.
And most importantly—here’s to Lola, the girl who reminded me this morning that love, trust, and a single name called with love... can bring the most precious thing running right back home.
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